Renovating

Great gardens around Paris and the Loire Valley

The gardens in France were more than a month ahead of normal compared to gardens in Vancouver where they are three or four weeks behind. Shown here is the clematis at the Chatonniere garden in the Loire Valley.

Photograph by: Steve Whysall
, Vancouver Sun

I have just returned from a month spent touring great gardens in France. It was quite amazing, but more about that in a minute.

When I left Vancouver at the beginning of May, it was cold, wet and miserable.

When I got back, I could see from the state of my garden that the weather hadn't changed much over those four weeks: Many plants were showing signs of prolonged exposure to cool temperatures, wet days and the lack of sunshine.

I knew when I left Vancouver that we were at least three, perhaps even four weeks behind seasonal norms in the garden.

In France, I found the exact opposite: The season was at least four weeks ahead of schedule.

When I flew out of Vancouver, winter was down for the count; spring appeared to be about to win the battle and start the rush to summer.

When I arrived in Paris, it was summer already with temperatures in the mid-20s C and even soaring to a sweltering 30 C on a few days.

I arrived expecting to see tunnels of wisteria, banks of peonies, beds of irises, some late-flowering tulips, early alliums, the last of rhododendrons and azaleas. If I was lucky, I thought I might see a few roses in bloom.

What I found was summer had arrived like an express train. Wisteria, tulips and most peonies were long gone. Roses were not only blooming, they were out in full force — roses, roses, roses, everywhere, gloriously out in their abundance and looking healthy and fantastic, without a trace of black spot.

Who would have guessed it? It was like stepping from March into July.

All the summer-flowering clematis were also fully out. In other places, there were magnificent stands of delphiniums, foxtail lilies and masses of red valerian.

Everything was a bit topsy-turvy: Spring had accelerated into summer like a jet plane and summer had seized the baton and was rocketing away at an equally insane pace, creating water shortages, formidable pollen counts and desperate drought conditions.

The whole time I was in France, the people were praying for rain. Every day, the weatherman said it would rain (trying to be nice) but it never did.

I, coming from the cool of Vancouver, was of course happy to have nothing but drenching sunshine.

Grass had already turned yellow, wheat fields were already ripening, and currant bushes were already bearing fruit. It seemed as if every plant that could produce flowers was in flower — a total avalanche of blooms.

At Monet's garden in Giverny, water lilies on the surface of the famous pond were at their peak, while quirkily on the banks there were still a few rhododendrons in bloom.

The main garden was a mass of flower colour, the canvases of a dozen gorgeous garden scenes merged into one.

At the Bagatelle Gardens in Paris, the world-class collection of roses had never looked better: swags, tunnels, pillars, arches and arbours smothered by perfectly formed blooms.

The same was true at Parc Floral de la Source rose garden in Orleans, although two weeks later when I saw this garden a second time, the toll of the persistent heat wave had catapulted many of the roses to the finish line; they were over and done in what seemed like the blink of an eye.

I saw a lot and learned a lot on this trip.

The first thing I became aware of was the beauty of the street trees and delightful absence of aerial clutter (since all wires are discreetly placed underground).

Large, beautiful chestnut, plane and linden trees were closely planted along streets — sometimes in rows less than 15 feet apart — and most often superbly clipped or pleached into handsome geometric shapes.

In Chartres, I stood and watched a work crew painstakingly shearing a row of lindens using a cherry-picker cage to reach the top. Every scrap of debris was cleaned up. The attention to detail was amazing.

It showed me how the French are unafraid to pour money into maintaining the beauty of their urban landscape. It also made me wonder why pleaching is not done more here, especially where there are overhead wires.

At the International Garden Festival at Chaumont-sur-Loire, I saw some exceptionally creative, fun, as well as shockingly thought-provoking gardens; all built to make us think about the future and the need for a greater awareness about biodiversity.

One garden, called Plants on Life-Support, featured a hospital bed with plants hooked up to monitors. All the other plants in the garden were connected to intravenous blood-transfusion bags.

More whimsical creations included a garden of giant bulbs made out of thin strips of wood and another installation with tiny bells attached to masses of red, white and blue streamers over raised vegetable beds. When a breeze rustled the streamers, the bells rang out, perhaps as a warning about our need to pay attention to food security.

My favourite installation was the Pixelated Garden, which featured a set of colourful oil barrels placed at odd angles in a shallow pond.

Water poured into the pond through white armatures from each corner while a walkway around the pond doubled as a very functional patio space. Superb. I saw this garden as an easy installation and low-maintenance option that could be reworked for any Vancouver backyard.

I visited a few classical, formal French gardens: Vaux le Vicomte, Courances, Villandry and Versailles.

What I was not expecting was how restful it can be to walk slowly through these vast formal, graceful, minimalistic landscapes. It really was a treat.

The immense scale and formal layout and unambiguous sense of order produces an astonishing degree of tranquillity and harmony. Go figure.

Pictures don't capture it; you really have to walk the walks to feel it. I have much more to tell you, but I've run out of space today. To be continued.

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The gardens in France were more than a month ahead of normal compared to gardens in Vancouver where they are three or four weeks behind. Shown here is the clematis at the Chatonniere garden in the Loire Valley.

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